I get why, though. He’s looking gorgeous as he approaches the table, in clothes that feel a lot older than we are—skinny jeans, leather boots, a bomber jacket. Of course he cleans up nice. And here I am in my same busted sneakers, jeans that barely fit, and a hoodie.

He slides into the booth across from me, and I’m rendered speechless by the way his skin glows under the light fixture dangling between us. There are silver crystals in his ears, which I didn’t even realize were pierced. I like that. Among everything else.

“Damn,” he says, suppressing a smile. “Thought we’d get to spend a little bit more time together before you went and got yourself suspended.”

I roll my eyes and bury my face in my hands. “Please shut up. Oh my God.”

He lets out the laughter he was holding in, flashing that beautiful smile. “No, I think it was badass. Everyone I’ve talked to says that guy was a dick and had it coming.”

“Yeah, no kidding. A big one.”

“A big dick?” Allister picks up the glass of ice water on the table and gulps down half of it, surveying the restaurant with his eyes as if he didn’t just say that.

I’m so into him, I consider sitting across a table from him a blessing. Despite the fact he drinks straight out the glass in public restaurants, which is something I’d never do.

“I think we’ll get to the dick part later?” I say. “Pretty sure that’s how it works, not that I’ve ever done it before.”

He slams the glass down and lifts his eyebrows. At first, I think I’ve gone too far, but then I process his emotion. He looks kind of . . . impressed?

The waiter comes to our table just in time to spare me further embarrassment. I hope I didn’t say something wrong in the pursuit of saying things that feel right.

The waiter introduces himself to Allister as Kenny and asks for our orders. I order the Mushroom Madness burger, which I’d been poring over the menu to decide on for fifteen minutes, torn between dozens of tempting descriptions.

But Allister doesn’t bother even looking at it. All he says is, “Surprise me.” And hands both menus to the waiter, not giving him a choice.

Kenny hesitates. “Ummm . . .”

“I trust you, sir,” Allister says. “I eat everything that tastes good, and your tattoos already prove you have impeccable taste.”

Allister’s charm rises off his aura in bubbles of red, white, and rosy pink. Kenny looks down at his colorful sleeve of tattoos—where cartoon characters and symbols are etched into his skin—and he has no choice but to smile.

“Thanks, that’s nice of you,” he says. “Hope I don’t disappoint you.”

After he wanders off, I roll my eyes at Allister. “Always a charmer.”